


The Day The World Went Away

by all-or-nothing-baby (BundleOfSoy)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: #End!Verse, (that tag was actually stolen from Jackie), (the band), (those last two are only mentions), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Anal Sex, And love, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Apocalypse, Barebacking, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Endverse Dean Winchester, Boyking!Sam, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel is So Done (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex, Closeted Dean Winchester, Come Swallowing, Comfort, Comfort Sex, Dead Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Cries During Sex, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester In Love, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester's Staggeringly Low Self Esteem, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Episode: s05e04 The End, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Hippy!Cas, Hopeless Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Inspired by Music, Lots of Sex, Love, Lucifer Possessing Sam Winchester, M/M, Mentions of drugs, Nearly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Nine Inch Nails, Oral Sex, POV Dean, POV Dean Winchester, Porn with Feelings, Sad Castiel (Supernatural), Sad Dean Winchester, Smoker Dean Winchester, Smut, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Endverse Castiel, True Love, Zombie-Hunter!Dean, lots of emotions, porn with love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BundleOfSoy/pseuds/all-or-nothing-baby
Summary: Dean had come to apologise. TothankCas. But pieces of Cas' broken heart were now on show, stabbing right through his beautiful face, slicing through Jimmy's muscles and skin. Dean could see it all now, pouring out through the jagged cuts; fear, shame, all the hurt—the lion's share of it of which Dean himself had caused. Cas was now wearing his pain on full display all over his body, like a shiny fucking outfit of the day.Dean had never hated himself more. Even after torturing an endless stream of once-human souls in hell.Cas let the pistol drop to the floor."Thenwhat, Dean?" he choked, "why are you here?" His wet eyes searched Dean's with such wretched frustration, Dean couldn't take it a second longer. Had to make it go away, end the pain. Ironically, Dean realised, hedidwant to make everything stop for Cas—forbothof them—even if only for a little while. Just not by means of a bullet.How the hell do you make the whole world just stop?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 44
Kudos: 152





	The Day The World Went Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaltyWords (agent4hire22)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent4hire22/gifts).

> This fic was written as a FRICKIN HUGE-ASS THANK YOU to Saltywords (agent4hire22) AKA @winchester-reload on Dumblr AKA Jackie, my amazing friend, for the designing and running of--as well as participating in?!--her awesome SuptoberArt2019 challenge.
> 
> Jackie, I know you're sick of me saying it now but man, you're a goddamn hero.
> 
> So. As mentioned above, this fic began its life as a simple show of appreciation. But my noodle's kinda extra twisted, so I turned that gratitude into an angsty End!Verse fic (as you do). However, I'm not completely evil like some writers *cough* Chuck *cough* so there is a little happiness here too, even if there's no hope. And also some apocalyptic smut because, well, reasons. "Last night on Earth, an' all that, right?" #paymentinkind.
> 
> I nabbed the title offa my old mucker Trent Reznor, from a beautiful NIN song (Nine Inch Nails, a band both Jackie and I love) from The Fragile--although if you are going to listen to it, try and get the "Still" album version as it's even more raw/beautiful. I just couldn't help but be inspired by the lyrics, so their essence is weaved into the writing like borrowed thread. But Trent wouldn't mind, he loves a bit of angst.
> 
> Then, because I'm a crazy person, I thought it'd be cool to have all of the prompt words from Suptober lurking--ALL THIRTY-FUCKING-ONE OF THEM. Next time I have an idea like that, someone please club me over the head with Papa Winchester's zombie-bashing baseball bat-wife, Lucille, okay? Okay. *whispers* Um, actually, it might have been just a teensy-weensy bit fun. Maybe.
> 
> Check out the suptoberart2019 tag on winchester-reload's Tumblr and you'll find a link somewhere for the prompt words (and a ton of totally stunning artwork). I can't link shit 'cause I'm on mobile and a dumbass, but WILL eventually edit this with the prompt list, at a point when I'm not about to collapse with exhaustion xD
> 
> Oh and one last note: poetic license says FUCK REFRACTORY PERIODS. Ahem.

**The Day The World Went Away**

_I'd listen to the words he'd say_

  
_But in his voice I heard decay_

  
_The plastic face forced to portray_

  
_All the insides left cold and gray_

  
_There is a place that still remains_

  
_It eats the fear it eats the pain_

  
_The sweetest price he'll have to pay_

  
_The day the whole world went away_

  
_Na na nah_

  
_Na na na, nah_

  
_Na na nah_

  
_Na na na , nah_

**Nine Inch Nails, The Fragile**

* * *

Didn't matter. Nothing did, not anymore. Not really.

He was back on the John Player Black's again 'cause why the fuck not? Had to fill the void somehow, might as well be pulling plumes of shroud-white smoke into his lungs. So-called _ Hunters Helper_—not that he’d stopped knocking it back like a bum with a four-litre bottle of white spirit—wasn't so much help any more. Honestly though, not much was. But he'd be damned if he was going to start whoring around with even one of Cas' new-found vices. Dean needed his wits about him. So, his choice of poison was the non-mind-altering, cancer-giving chemicals in tobacco. Lighting another coffin-nail, Dean failed to ignore the voices as they grew louder.

_ Sam, I got a bad feeling about this_

_ Well, you'd be nuts to have a good feeling about it _

The memory of those words was a death bell, tolling in his ears every damned day. Despite the light tone Sam had employed at the time, Dean had heard the resignation seeping out, having already set in; its steady decay eating away at his brother's usually unfaltering hope.

_ He always said he'd jump your bones in Detroit… here we are _

Almost five years later.

_ Here we fucking are _

The End was a monster; primed, looming. Much bigger than any Dean had ever fought—much bigger than Dean. He was stuck here in this rotting place, a ticking time bomb limbo with no exit. And it was killing him a fuck-side faster than the smokes. Dean wasn't scared of Lucifer. Wasn't scared of dying, or even of his more than likely imminent failure, only responsible for it. But seeing Sammy's face contorted into an undiluted Garden of Eden-nightmare, his little brother’s eyes dead and long gone... Yeah, of _ that, _ Dean was completely terrified.

Only two-thirds done, he flicked the cigarette into the dirt at the edge of his hut. Dean blew out a last, thin pole of smoke into the dusk, along with absolutely none of his worry—which included his_ other _ biggest fear. The one he carried around with him like a terminal disease. See, Dean's one saving grace over the last few years had been managing to keep his rogue feelings in check. But as the inevitable day grew closer...

Before all this end of the world fuckery and not that long after the Angel of Thursday soared in on awesome black wings—jackknifing into Dean's jacked-up life—Dean had been so goddamn grateful at realising he had his first real _ friend_, that his lusting over dark hair and the bluest of all baby-blues had just been an inconvenient itch. One he'd simply decided not to scratch. He had a good thing going with Cas and didn’t want to jeopardize it. So, a mostly closeted but wholly bisexual Dean had put on a plastic jolly-joker mask and ignored the whole damn thing like a seasoned winner. After all, he was the master of pulling on his own puppet-strings to twist his mind and smash his dreams.

But that shit just wouldn't go away.

Instead, it grew. Like bluegrass down by the creek, at the edge of slow-moving water where it was muggy and warm and the mud was soft… until it became more than just lust. Until the hardy weed was a constant ache of _want _growing in his gut. A burning bush that Cas smote with his storm-blue light. And those flames caught and licked into Dean's every thought and move. Every decision of every day having an agender that spread so fast into a raging forest wildfire of protectiveness and _need_ and—and something he'd told himself he'd never feel again after Cassie. Dean knew he had to stop it. Needed to pull all the weapons he owned on its ass, take it down to the boneyard, battered and bound then kill it dead fucking dead. Needed to bury the corpse. Salt and goddamn burn it and leave the charcoal-grey ashes to disintegrate into the dirt and the nothingness, leaving only a burned-out hole; the one that now lived in his chest. Why? Because Dean didn't know what to do with such emotion—and he sure as sin didn't deserve a return on it. But here? And now? It was the sky that was cold and grey and cracking at its seams.

_ Walking side-by-side with death_

_ The devil mocks their every step _

...like some scene from the tale Led Zeppelin told in _ No Quarter_, it was all about to ignite and cave in on the few sorry Joes left in this permanent Halloween party. And Cas? Dean had been treating him like one of the goddamn Croats, keeping him at more than arm's length. Except when his expertise was needed. That was... it wasn't right—_never had been_—especially not now. At The End. Not when there was nothing left but fucked up images dreamed up in the mind of a drug-addled rockstar. Dean should try and make amends. Hell, even just take a bunch of stolen flowers and a forced smile to the gravestone that was his and Cas' friendship. Not like he expected to be treated like fucking royalty by Cas. Like he'd just welcome Dean back with loyal, open arms and they'd kiss and make-up as long-lost lovers do. But even if Dean just… just thanked the guy, at the very least.

_ Some things never really die _

It was the actual end of the God-awful world and Dean was still hiding from himself.

_ Here we fucking are _

Yeah, and Dean Winchester was still a coward.

_ So it goes _

With signature false hubris, he inhaled the autumn-damp Camp Chitaqua air with flared, now-determined nostrils. Ignoring the contrasting unsure chew of bottom lip as he walked the few paces to Cas' hut, he prayed to nobody that was actually listening that Cas would be alone. Dean had no wish whatsoever to hear the sounds of randomers sucking Cas off while he mooned over them, him telling his harem of ladies how pure and good they were. Unlike Dean.

_ Hell-damaged filth _

The hut was quiet when he reached it but a gas lamp burned low, its orange glow seeping through tired scraps of sari material hung as makeshift curtains. Dean gripped the handle as fear gripped his idiot's heart. What if Cas just laughed in his face? Or worse, simply fixed him with that sometimes still-celestial stare, like Dean was nothing but a brave little ant—or worse still, just... nothing.

_ Belonging with the nothingness _

Stowing his shit was seemingly as easy as trying to eat a burger before you've slaughtered the cow, but Dean was already knocking on the door. Other than the End Game, nothing really mattered anymore. But maybe there could at least be _ this_.

_ A place must still remain_, _somewhere_, _where fear and pain are consumed by... something?_

When the door swung open, Cas looked refreshingly fresh, like maybe he’d _ not _been smoking dope all-day. Dean couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing.

“Hello, Dean.” Like a hotline straight to Dean’s dick, every damn time.

“Hey. Can I come in?" Dean didn't look him in the eye. "Or you gonna make me stand here with my dick in my hand?” It was a pretty terrible choice of idiom considering, but Dean’s nerves could kiss his freckled, white ass.

Cas glanced down at Dean’s crotch, a brow raised and a probable quip on his now permanently snarky lips, threatening to be spoken. Not giving him the opportunity, Dean barged in, right through Cas’ arm flanking his entry. Hearing the guy huff a soft but snide laugh as he shut the door, the beaded curtain clacking into itself like dry rice in a pan, Dean strode past him, taking in Cas’ patchouli-stinking, hippy-fied quarters in all its patheticness. It was nothing but reams of books, pillows and more old saris strewn around, attempting and failing to thinly veil despair. Trying hard not to hate on everything—himself the most—Dean turned to face Cas.

Cas raised a brow. “You don't like what I've done with the place... _ I'd _ say it's a damn sight better than the hotels and motels you used to frequent," he sniped. Then he sighed, looking bored. "The evening is waning, Dean. Can I help you with something of actual import?" he asked, using his angel voice, then reverting back to the snark, “Or would you like _ me _ to hold your dick in _ my _ hand, hmm? Share the load, so to speak...” he said, smirking at his own dumb joke. Dean wanted to punch that smug fucking face into next week—just as much as he wanted to pull Cas into him and hold on fiercely for the duration of the little time they had left. Dean was at once horribly unsure of which emotion his face portrayed.

Cas said, ”How about you make this short, seeing as I have company arriving imminently?” making the question a demand with such ease.

As if they were in a scene from some shitty play, an uncannily timed and ominously light knock at the door sounded. Dean’s heart at once hammered against his ribcage, like Thor going hell for leather in ten rounds with Loki.

“Whoever she is, send her ass packin’. I gotta talk to you, man.” Dean hissed.

“She? How presumptuous of you, Dean.”

Dean's resolve was gonna break if Cas kept this up. And he’d leave, leaving everything left unsaid. Either that or he’d break Cas’ stupid, pretty face and his own already fractured heart. Man, Dean missed that holy tax accountant.

In a blitz of quiet rage, he beat Cas to the door. Not opening it, Dean simply backed up against the beaded curtain, speaking loudly over his shoulder through thick wood.

“Go get your rocks off someplace else, sugar. I need him tonight.”

Silence. Then faint footsteps getting fainter, fast.

“How very masterful and incredibly irritating of you, Dean," Cas deadpanned. But when Dean met his gaze, Cas was wide-eyed. Like a fucking Bond villain, amused and half-crazed all at once.

For just a sliver of a moment, Dean was back in the_ before_… shit, he missed the movies. Missed the escapism, where the good guys always won. He missed the fake drama of Dr Sexy—which probably would've been in season fifteen or some shit by now if it hadn't been for the goddamned apocalypse. Dean missed those things almost as much as he missed driving his beautiful Baby on the open road; quaffing down greasy bacon burgers; tasting all the flavours of pie middle America had to offer. All those glorious things he used to almost take for granted… and all of them gone now. Drifted off into a hazy, rose-tinted distance, into the realms of nostalgia and triviality. Actually, it wasn't half as poetic as that. They were all just fucking dodos, R.I.P. Just like the human race would be soon if Dean was unsuccessful.

The returning weight of his task suddenly bore down on him so heavily, Dean felt like Atlas carrying the entire planet on his too-narrow shoulders. He was supposed to save this living-hellhole, where all that was left was Croats, desolation and loss—and a broken angel who'd lost his halo a while back. But Cas was humanity's broken angel._ Dean's _ broken angel. Shit, he needed to focus. Dean had come here to apologize, in his own way. And to let Cas know he was... appreciated. That he had _ always _ been appreciated, even if Dean hadn't shown it of late. Or ever.

"Look, just shut the hell up for a minute, would you, man?" Dean snapped.

_ Dick _

"Really, Dean? You come into _ my _ personal space, throw your weight around and, what, now you want to silence me? After sending away my friends—"

"They ain't your _ friends_, Cas," Dean spat.

Cas' smile held no warmth. "You're right. Dean, they're not. But they're all I have left," he said, head tilting with residual angel muscle-memory, "_ you _ made sure of that."

Dean bristled, pointing a finger. "Fuck you, Cas. You were losing your mojo. I was just... I was trying to keep you safe."

Cas laughed cruelly at that. "I may be useless, Dean, but I'm not stupid. You've been keeping out of my way because I'm a disappointment. Because I can't _ get it up _ for you anymore. You dropped me like Icarus, mid-chthonian-sky. So then _ I _ started dropping pills like jelly beans in the vain hope that the feeling of utter rejection would dampen." Cas divulged. "Well, Dean, are you ready to receive revelation? Shockingly, it didn't." Cas looked away. "Guess I am a little stupid after all." 

"You're not stupid, Cas," Dean spoke quietly now.

"You think not? Tell me then, would you? How it is _not_ stupid that when you told my visitor just now -_ I need_ _him tonight_ \- I thought that maybe, just for a moment, you might actually mean it?" Cas' forced smile faded as vitriol rose in his throat, "The only thing you need me for anymore is my knowledge and my trigger finger, Dean. I'm well aware of that."

"You don't know shit about what I need." Dean countered.

"Is that so?" Then taking Dean by surprise, Cas shoved into him, hard, hands fisted in military surplus jacket, pushing him back against the door. Cas leaned in close, his eyes on stalks, tracking every muscle that twitched in Dean's face. "You really think I don't know what you need? What you _ want _?" Dean felt Cas's knee between his thighs, forcing his legs apart.

"The fuck off me, man!" Dean struggled but Cas was still stronger than him, still faster.

"Why, Dean? Because that's _ not _ what you want?" Cas laughed so bitterly it stung Dean's ears. "Hmm, what _ do _ you want then, oh fearless leader? Other than a weapon with more bullets than ol'used-up Castiel…" His free hand found the Beretta 92FS in Dean's thigh holster, gripping it tight and bringing it swiftly to press hard into Dean's temple. "Is it this, Dean? Is this what you want? Somebody to make it all stop?" And for the very first time since meeting in that barn in Sioux Falls almost five years ago, Dean saw glassy tears in Cas' eyes and realised that he was _ projecting_. Cas was finally done. And it was Dean's fault.

_ Like everything else _

"No, that's—that's not what I want, Cas," Dean shook his head, thoughts racing, his grip on everything becoming unsteady. Dean had come to apologise. To _ thank _ Cas. But pieces of Cas' broken heart were now on show, stabbing right through his beautiful face, slicing through Jimmy's muscles and skin. Dean could see it all now, pouring out through the jagged cuts; fear, shame, all the hurt—the lion's share of it of which Dean himself had caused. Cas was now wearing his pain on full display all over his body, like a shiny fucking outfit of the day.

Dean had never hated himself more. Even after torturing an endless stream of once-human souls in hell.

Cas let the pistol drop to the floor.

"Then _ what_, Dean?" he choked, "why are you here?" His wet eyes searched Dean's with such wretched frustration, Dean couldn't take it a second longer. Had to make it go away, end the pain. Ironically, Dean realised, he _ did _ want to make everything stop for Cas—for _ both _ of them—even if only for a little while. Just not by means of a bullet.

_ How the hell do you make the whole world just stop? _

"Cas, I—" Dean floundered before finding his feet and planting them firmly in the bluegrass. "I came for_ this_..." And, a breath away from petrified of the rejection Cas had spoken of but so sick to his stomach of his own cowardice, Dean lunged at Cas. He grabbed him, rough fingers sinking into soft, dark peach-fuzz that covered sharp jawline, and pulled Cas' face into his own, melding their mouths with such force Cas stumbled backwards a little.

Quickly disentangling himself from Dean, Cas then took two very purposeful steps away—and if looks could kill, Dean would be a goner for sure.

The veto was a fucking spear in Dean's side and he instantly wished for the pistol back at his temple and for Cas to squeeze the fucking trigger already. It wasn't his intention when he came here, to show Cas how he felt like this. Dean wasn't anything like prepared for having his secretive, cowering emotions on display, leaving himself dangerously open to this rebuff.

Then Cas, giving Dean serious whiplash, was shoving him again until Dean was slammed right back into his previous position against wooden beads and the door of the hut. Those eighteen-per cent angel eyes now searched Dean's for something _ real_.

"Do you mean it?" Cas asked, frantic, "or are you just toying with me? Some sort of End of the World pity-fuck for… for all that could've been?" he faltered, "because, Dean, I…" and he was pleading now, "Dean, I can't_... _ " voice raw like iron ore but breaking like mirrored glass. And in that freeze-frame, Dean knew Cas knew. Cas… Cas had _ always _ known. It only took a heartbeat for Dean to process, before accepting he'd be paying the piper in the morning… and yet finally had no sweet fucks left to give. Not anymore. There was only now.

_ Only this _

"It's always been you, Cas."

Slowly, now—timid, almost—Dean brought untrustworthy hands up to hold Cas' face as if something precious. Because it _ was_. With clumsy thumbs he wiped at tears escaping elysian eyes, ignoring his own which now gathered and stung in his lashes making everything bleed into one another, like whiskey spilt over watercolours.

With his own words ringing in his ears and reawakened need coursing through him, Dean poured all he had left into the kiss. Cas tasted salty and sad at first. Reluctant. But he didn't pull away. And as Dean's truth permeated those chapped, pink lips, Cas began to kiss back with what was maybe something similar to Dean's own need.

Much more than just a bond reaffirmed, Dean and Cas finding each other was like the sun and the moon meeting for the first time in the centre of a deep purple sky. Somehow simultaneously dark _ and _ light; impossible but real and residing high up above the suffering and death. The flame that burned inside Dean now flared, a wildfire once more, recognising it had met its match. Joining and doubling in size it roared, spitting fierce sparks out in every direction, becoming something brand new.

They didn't speak because they didn't have to, feelings now exchanged in touch and taste. Cas tugged desperately at Dean and Dean held on tight, like he thought Cas might disappear… but he didn't. He only pulled off Dean's mouth for long enough to lead them to his mattress on the floor, in a corner of the small room. Cas then pushed Dean gently into a seated position, leaning in. He was the one kissing Dean now, taking his time, and it was warm and Dean, now welcome to explore Cas' mouth fully, found Cas tasted like sweet coffee spiced with desire. Dean was shaking a little, breath already shallow and uneven. He was scared. But he knew_ everything _ about this was right—this, here; _ them_… it was what they always should have been. As Cas straddled Dean's thighs, Dean reached for Cas' collarless shirt and Cas raised both arms above his head to help remove it, both more than ready to make up for lost time. Dean took a moment to take in the new view of lean, tanned torso; taut skin smoothed over defined muscle; nipples almost as pink as the lips Cas now painted darker with his tongue as he waited patiently for Dean to satisfy his fervent curiosity. It was surreal. Only alone in the dark had Dean imagined this. Him and Cas _ together_. All those times spent fantasizing, it was always a surge; a frenzy of hands and tongue and teeth in a blaze of shedding clothes and inhibitions. But this reality—_this, them_—was different. It was soft, measured. Like sunlight filtered through frosted glass.

Reality was infinitely _better_.

As Dean ran fingertips over tendons and bone, Cas fixed Dean with a look with so much depth it was bottomless and Dean didn't know what to do with it. So he swallowed hard and held Cas' gaze and even with his skin burning white-hot and nerve-endings detonating beneath his skin at every touch, his resolve didn't falter. After Cas removed Dean's jacket and shirts, Dean took hold of him, one hand on a still-clothed hip, one with fingers curled around long, thick neck. And as Dean pulled Cas down towards his lips again—a hand of Cas' buried in pillows propping himself up above Dean and the other framing Dean's face as if it were some sort of masterpiece—without warning, Dean felt a rush of freedom. From prejudice, from his own gutlessness...

_ At fucking last _

It was also as if he were free from danger, somehow. For the first time since… shit, since he was four years old. The Apocalypse raged just outside the door, surrounding them with horror, and yet here, with Cas, Dean felt _ safe_. What he and Cas had found in a wooden hut at the end of the world was what Dean thought he'd been running from his entire life. But maybe, in some bizarro way, it was actually the thing he'd been running towards.

Dean startled when Cas spoke.

"Dean, I…" Cas' eyes both sparkled and darkened, "I want you," he said, now speaking his actions out loud. "In fact, you are all I want; all I've ever wanted since I raised you from Hell. This—_ you _—it's… you're everything I need." Dean could hear the old Cas he missed so much. "So tell me, Dean, what is it that you want? You've been through so much, I... what do you need? Tell me and I'll give it to you if I can."

Dean had never been more certain of anything.

"Cas, you already have," and he kissed Cas again, holding him so tight he hoped it rivalled Cas' grip when pulling Dean back into his life.

Then, internally warring with himself—with built-in feelings of worthlessness, self-doubt, and the ever-present fear of rejection—Dean decided to throw it all to the east wind, daring to lean in further and tentatively tell Cas, "but I'm a greedy son of a bitch, so I…" Dean bit hard into his lip, "I want you to fuck me," he whispered.

When Cas sat up to look at Dean with quizzical eyes, Dean instinctively hid his flame-red cheeks and inevitable shame from scrutiny. He'd _ never _ asked for that, not once in his life. Only let strangers make their assumptions then take what they wanted. Dean had only ever let himself be completely vulnerable with one other person, the girl he'd fallen in love with, but in truth hadn't really known all that long… he couldn't have asked this of Cassie. That left the string of one-night stand notches on his non-existent bedpost. Lots of girls and a few guys, some of which he'd let top him—some gentle, some not so much—where both parties cared way too much about saving face and never enough about each other. Dean hadn't opened himself up fully like this, an exposed vein pumping out taboo desires. And now here he was, bleeding himself dry with Cas, someone who truly mattered. _ So _ much. Cas was the one person he felt more respect and affection for, out of anyone he'd met in this messed-up race. Even before it had reached near-extinction.

And he'd probably just fucked it all up.

"Dean, look at me."

When Dean tried but couldn't, screwing his eyes shut, Cas's cool hands cupped his flushed jaw, encouraging Dean to turn his head to face his once-best friend. "What you're asking me for... I can give to you, Dean, with pleasure—hopefully, both mine _and_ yours," Cas said softly, "but I have something else to give you first which, I believe, you may be in need of." Dean's curiosity got the better of him and his now open eyes pitched up to find what felt like _love_ in Cas'...

Dean sure as shit couldn't trust that.

_ Feelings are fucking liars _

"Dean, I think you need to allow yourself to be okay with being _human_..." Cas said, stating the obvious, but which somehow wasn't obvious to Dean at all. "And secondly, you need to be okay with _ wanting _ what it is you're asking."

Dean looked away again and a silence stretched between them. Cas simply waited, ever patient. After another round of their breaths being the only sound—other than the rain now falling outside—Dean admitted to the floorboards, "Don't know how," his voice tight and small.

Cas sighed. But Dean could hear the smile in his answer.

"Then let me show you, Dean."

Taking off his own jeans and underwear first as Dean watched, Cas then stripped Dean of his. Cas was a goddamn vision and Dean wanted hands on every inch. But Cas brought two fingers to Dean's temple and simply asked him to close his eyes again. Dean looked up at Cas who urged him with a single nod. So, Dean did as asked.

Cas breathed in slowly and on his exhale, his fading but just-present grace hit Dean with a pure, undiluted dose of what Cas saw every time he looked at Dean. _ Everything _ Castiel felt for Dean now flowed through each part of him—Dean Winchester, a humble but righteous man who thought he'd simply got in over his head and was now just trying to fix his mistakes which were never really his own—and too many watts of emotion shattered inside Dean's mind like ten hundred thousand blown out lightbulbs.

"Fuck," Dean gasped, shaken, but now with an understanding which graced Dean with a confidence he'd never possessed before. Now, he_ knew _ how Cas felt. And knowing? Knowing made a mockery of self-doubt.

Opening his eyes, Dean bloomed with all of Cas' adoration. "Cas, I need you, man," he said, "need you right now."

Then came the surge.

Dean wanted it all, and hands and tongues and teeth couldn't get enough. He was trying to absorb Cas' fear, his pain, by giving pleasure, which Cas was more than happy to take. Cas was also taking all of Dean's hurt, in turn, transforming it into everything Dean wanted, everything Dean needed: forgiveness; surety; acceptance. It was real, wasn't a lie. This was...

_ Cas' love _

Hands explored hidden contours, tongues tangled and teeth grazed goosebumped flesh neither had seen before now.

"Lay down for me, Dean," Cas instructed when he came up for air. Dean did so without thinking. Didn't have to think anymore, he knew Cas understood exactly what he needed. Dean _ trusted _ Cas—and Cas knew it. "There are things I've wanted, Dean. Especially since becoming more human." Cas locked his gaze on Dean's dazed face.

Dean immediately offered, "Then I can—"

"No, Dean. I don't mean…" he trailed off, scanning the room like the words were maybe hiding in the walls. "The things I want are… they're not… Dean, will you let me show you?" Cas' asked the question without really asking. Like he already knew Dean's answer. Dean nodded without hesitation and Cas took both Dean's wrists in a single stronghold and guided his crisscrossed arms till they rested on Cas' pillow just above Dean's head.

Dean's breath hitched.

Cas, still straddling Dean, lowered his head and kissed Dean again and this time it was something else entirely; meandering yet immersive, blazing hot and all-consuming. Leaving Dean reeling, Cas' tongue led the way from lips to chin to throat, lingering on Dean's Adam's apple, Cas mouthing it—causing Dean's already more than half-hard dick to twitch as breath stuttered in his throat like a wind-trap—then onto clavicle bones where, closing his eyes, he nosed at the dips and rises like… like a bird preening its mate?

_ Or maybe like an angel _

Long, slender fingers ran intricate paths up and down each of Dean's thighs as Dean watched with eyes nagging to drift shut and head begging to fall backwards, his body itching to give into arousal. But he couldn't look away. Cas' ministrations were almost holy—and Dean had no guilt whatsoever for what that made him feel. His dick, now flushed and fully erect, bobbed with urgency at every touch Cas offered. Dean was at the mercy of the one he’d been captivated by and pining for since stabbing through muscle and breast bone in that warded barn, what felt like a lifetime ago.

Transfixed at the staggering sight of Cas exploring him, taking his time and feasting on every part of skin he could reach as if it were the body of fucking Christ, Dean realised Cas was..._ worshipping _ him. As adoring thumbs now stroked at hip bones, those pink lips closed around one of Dean’s nipples and laved and sucked, sucking the restraint right out of Dean. He caved, eyes closing and teeth sinking into lip again, head hitting the pillow with only one thought running through it: he'd never been treated this way; as somebody's _ absolute _ focus. Not really, not like _ this_. And with his own fingers now buried in Cas' wayward hair, blunt nails scratching at scalp as Cas licked at his navel, Dean realised he had been missing something his whole damned life without even knowing he needed it… someone to believe he was _ good _ . Someone who thought Dean was worth it, worth sticking around for. Cas was _ here _. Cas hadn't left him. Like Cassie had, like Mom and Dad…

_Like Sam_

Dropping kisses along each of Dean's ribs, Cas ran fingertips over Dean's chest, unknowingly outlining his tattoos; the anti-possession symbol, and the script above it which read:

**שם האלוהים**

...the name _ Samuel _in Hebrew, where its origins lay. It meant _ God has heard. _

_ That fucker heard it all; then He just up and left too _

A grief-shaped lump grew in Dean's throat and his eyes itched and stung with whiskey colours again.

_ Cas is here _

_ Cas is here _

_ Cas is here _

"You're still here" Dean found himself saying, now clutching at Cas.

Cas looked up at Dean, eyes swimming in some sort of melancholy empathy. Yet also, a kind of contentment Dean had never witnessed before. Not in Cas nor anyone.

"Dean," he said, eyes soft like whispers, "where else would I be?"

And then the whole world went away.

Cas lay flat on top of Dean, every possible part of them touching. Dean felt Cas' full erection for the first time, nudging against his own, and all the oxygen left his lungs. Cas kissed him, open-eyed, and bent his knees slightly, giving himself leverage, his elbows sinking into pillow and hands framing Dean's face. He began to move back and forth, pre-come slicked dicks now sliding against each other. Dean's lips involuntarily parted for a scarlet moan to escape his throat—part release and part relief, uncorked after years of being bottled up. Cas hummed along to the sound as if it were the heavenly chorus. Nipples rubbed each other and hands roved and Dean kissed Cas with such hunger, his starving senses in overdrive. He held on in that overwhelming bliss-state for as long as he could manage… until he absolutely couldn't stand it any longer. Dean needed more. _ Much _ more.

Pressing fingers into the divots where Cas' wings had once been, Dean dragged lips from mouth through soft beard, latching onto Cas' earlobe. He sucked it into his mouth as Cas continued to drag their cocks together again and again and again.

Dean urged, "Shit, Cas, I… need more, man," he said, voice thick as treacle and just as sweet.

Cas sounded just as wrecked when he answered, "Yes, I know. Me too, Dean."

He slid down Dean's body, kissing all of Dean as he went. Cas then nestled between bowed legs for the first time and it was as if he was finally home.

"Oi i boaluahe", Cas spoke in his enochian tongue.

Not really understanding, Dean blurted, "I love you too..." regardless. And when Cas smiled, it was enough for Dean.

Cas then devoured Dean's cock, swallowing it down into his throat like fire swallows up everything in its wake. _ Dean _ was on fire and Cas' lips were gasoline. His eyes screwed themselves shut and Cas' tongue—a helter-skelter, set alight—swirled and roamed, spiking the oxytocin in Dean's brain like never before. Dean was filled with ecstasy as Cas filled his throat with Dean. Bringing his hands under knees and hoisting Dean's legs as he prayed, Cas' mouth coaxed a litany of profane moans and whines from bitten-red lips. He was bobbing, slowly, dragging out each pass on a hum. Cas was almost vibrating with Dean's pleasure—and it was the hottest thing in all of existence. He pulled off to lick and lap at Dean's balls and Dean sang his gratification like a goddamn Nightingale.

Cas growled, "Dean, you taste like nectar," and as Dean's dick leaked more pre-come, he pounced on it again, slurping it up, a bear on wild honey. One hand replaced his tongue massaging Dean's balls, the other gripping the base of Dean's cock like it was the Holy fucking Grail. And he drank as if he were dying of thirst, to seemingly nowhere near his fill.

"Holy shit, Cas, if you don't—I won't be able to…" Dean babbled, his body urging him to let go.

Cas didn't even pull off fully to speak, mouthing wet words around cock. "You don't need to hold back, Dean, you only need to hold on."

So Dean's grip in Cas' hair tightened as Cas fucked him with his mouth, selfishly taking by selflessly giving. His movements speeding up and brow knotting, Cas was wanting, wanting, wanting. So Dean gave up, giving in and giving it all away. He allowed Cas to take him, letting the coil inside him grow tighter, watching in awe as Cas gave worship. And Cas was fucking _ devout_. He took and he took and he took, raising Dean higher and higher.

Just before all his faculties were swept away by invisible wings, Dean remembered hearing Cas once say that angels were created to love only The Almighty...

_ Glory be to Dean _

Any residual thoughts of undeserving falling away like ancient ashes, Dean's body tensed with The Angel of Thursday wrapped possessively around it, working to draw out the most pleasure possible; pure, insane pleasure… then, the build-up peaking and cresting, the coil sprang—and Dean spilled every drop of his love into Cas' mouth as he came, harder than ever. With hands fisted in dark hair and a brand new galaxy exploding behind his lids, Dean shook and jerked and writhed as Cas milked him, Cas experiencing the shockwaves of Dean's orgasm right alongside him.

After groaning incoherently, there was only one word on Dean's sex-swollen lips but, brain swimming in endorphins, he couldn't actually work out if he was speaking it or not.

_ Cas... _

_ Cas... _

"Castiel," was the word.

"Hello, Dean," Cas answered with a come-streaked and perfect mouth as he elegantly climbed Dean's body, somehow both graceful angel _ and _ lascivious sinner. It was the most beautiful sight Dean had ever seen.

Dean needed Cas inside him.

"Do it, Cas. Please. Now," he urged, still riding high and only just able to form words.

Licking Dean's seed from his lips, Cas fumbled next to the mattress for something. Dean saw gel being squeezed. Aloe Vera scented, maybe. To Dean, it smelled like actual fucking heaven. Cas, flushed and still panting a little, now brought his hand back between Dean's legs. Dean felt the cold press of slick fingertips on his ass, testing, and sucked in air through trembling teeth.

Cas said, "G're ol tofglo," as he pushed in just a little. Playing around, relaxing Dean's hole as Dean himself became more worked-up, Cas looked debauched. Dean's dick twitched, already trying to be interested again.

"G're ol tofglo," Cas repeated as he let his forefinger slide slowly past the loosened ring of muscle and Dean moaned loudly. Cas pulled out, almost fully, and slid in again. And again. His mouth dropped open at the sight of Dean keening and, with those encouraging noises, he added more gel and another finger... and eventually another. Scissoring, coaxing, he opened Dean up like a flower in springtime. Then, curling his fingers in just the right way inside of Dean, Cas nudged that bundle of nerves, sending Dean hurtling back into the stratosphere. 

"Fuck," Dean almost wept, that galaxy behind his eyes twinkling anew. Cas' fingers were now the only things Dean was aware of; the feel of them entering him, beckoning him.

From somewhere outside of Dean's bubble, Cas' voice divulged, "Yes, I'm going to fuck you now, Dean."

Cas gently slid his fingers out of Dean and cleaned them on one of their shirts. He squeezed out more gel and slathered it onto his leaking dick. Dean could only wait, bereft, breathing in his anticipation and need. Cas lay down on top of Dean again and kissed him like it was the first and the last time. Dean managed, as Cas' slicked cock-end touched his waiting hole, to say, "Cas, you're it. You're... everything." Cas smiled and pushed slowly into Dean. He felt like Kuba velvet as he glided in smoothly yet tentatively at first. And when he bottomed out inside of Dean, Dean thought he might pass out with the fullness. Cas was _ possessing _ him, filling him right to the brink and beyond; filling Dean with faith, with all he had... Cas was filling in the burnt-out cavity in Dean's chest with his love.

To wrongly try and compensate for the lack of love he'd received, Dean had fucked a lot in his lifetime. But that all now felt like a rehearsal, just the warm-up for what was happening with Cas. This was a different kind of dance, a two-step to music Dean and Cas were composing together, sharp notes and soft notes swirling and mingling and setting solid like marble.

"Dean, you're _ my _ everything," Cas said as he thrust into Dean.

Dean choked out, "Say it your way."

Cas smiled, hoisting one of Dean's legs onto his shoulder allowing him to drive even deeper into Dean, causing Dean to cry out. "G're ol tofglo." Cas told him.

Dean got lost in Cas lost in him, until Cas began repeating the words, over and over. The tears fell from Dean's eyes like rain on his cheeks, and he smiled. Cas making love to Dean was an ocean; his tide lapping at Dean's shore, slow and steady… then a sea-storm, wild waves crashing into each other. Dean swelled like the surf, grabbing at Cas' free hand, interlacing their fingers and holding on tight. Cas began to groan quietly each time he entered Dean, a siren-song to Dean's body. Another orgasm was building low in Dean's belly, his dick becoming hard again and starting to throb in time with Cas' movements. Cas didn't take his eyes off Dean, not once—just kept loving him with them.

"Dean I…" Cas said as his rhythm faltered.

Through a moan, Dean acknowledged, "I know, Cas. Me too."

Cas then fucked Dean harder, yet with more affection than Dean had ever received. Dean felt his dick filling as Cas filled his ass with cock that swelled further with each thrust. The arm that propped Cas up had begun to tremor and Dean felt it through the hand he held. He squeezed tighter.

"I've got you, Cas."

"I know," Cas said, breathy. His movements slowing now, Cas coming undone was Dean's new heaven.

Dean almost came just from seeing the look on Cas' face as he managed to sputter out Dean's name just before he stilled, eyes widening, then pouring _everything_ into Dean. Hips juddering with the force of coming, his cock—buried deep inside Dean—pulsed in just the right spot to send Dean rocketing, bringing him to orgasm again. Full and rich, it tore through Dean's already over-sensitive body, his and Cas' stomachs a canvas now painted in strokes of come. He held his breath and held onto the best friend he'd ever had as him and Cas both rode out the rapture, together.

Cas collapsed on Dean and Dean wrapped himself around all of Cas, kissing every part of him he could reach without moving from under him. Cas, panting hard, started preening again, running his Grecian nose up and down Dean's neck, ultimately nestling in just between Dean's shoulder and the underside of his ear, pressing kisses of his own there, as if setting jewels in gold. The pair lay curled around one another like that, the world ending all around them, and loved each other.

Dean eventually spoke. "I wish the world wasn't fucked, Cas," he said in vain.

After moments, Cas just said, "The world can stay away for a little while longer, Dean." And, having shifted to Dean's side, he pulled Dean closer into him, enveloping him in those invisible wings. Dean closed his eyes and for a time, everything was okay.

* * *

Maybe Dean slept. Maybe Cas did. But at some point, Dean said, "'M sorry I didn't come to you sooner. Should've—"

"You're here now," was all Cas said.

Dean closed his eyes again. For the first time in years, he wasn't afraid. He knew it couldn't last but for now, it was real. Him and Cas were real.

"Yeah. I'm here," he whispered, "where else would I be?" and Dean felt Cas' smile deep in his bones. Something like he imagined his Baby must feel after a long journey, engine cooling and clicking, Dean felt a whole new kind of sated. One bathed in sunlight made from afterglow and tenderness. Was this contentment? Dean was actually _ calm_ for the first time in always. Which made no sense, considering. But even knowing the one-two punch paroxysm was waiting for them just outside the door of Cas' hut, a world-ending shit-storm already grumbling in the skies, something now mattered.

_ Tonight, something was enough _

Amid the nothingness, here at The End, there was this; there was _ them. _ Dean and Cas mattered, they weren't nothing. Maybe there was some hope after all and, if so—even as fragile and tenuous as it was—that mattered too. Dean was going to hold onto Cas fiercely for the duration of the little time they had left. There was no damned way in Heaven, Hell nor on Earth—either miraculously saved by him or burning at Lucifer's hand—that he was letting go.

Dean grew sleepy again, the rain falling harder outside and the wind picking up from the east.

He promised, "Till The End, Cas."

And it seemed Dean taking Cas down to the creek where it was muggy and warm and the bluegrass grew rampant, had restored Cas' faith in humanity.

"Until The End, Dean."

_ Some things never really die_

**The End?**

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I actually made myself cry writing this, which has never happened before. I think it might also be the fic I've been proudest of on completion--we'll see if that feeling lasts, lol.
> 
> Cas' proclamation in enochian "Oi i boaluahe" translates as "This is love" and when he repeats, "G're ol tofglo," he's saying "You're my everything" ...I used lingojam.com and its--and I quote--"passable enochian translator." 
> 
> Any Preacher fans will apreciate Dean and Cas' last lines at... the End? (pun most certainly intended). And there's also something in there too for Vonnegut ("so it goes") and Metallica ("smash his dreams...") fans.
> 
> An east wind, by the way, is referenced as symbolism for dark times ahead in the Bible, mythology, poetry and literature.
> 
> Oh and Cas used the Aloe Vera gel as it's a great natural lube and he's an end!verse hippy xD
> 
> Please, if you enjoyed this leave some warming kudos for me to cuddle up with on cold nights. And even comment, if you like... Go nuts!
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> All the love,
> 
> Lucy <3


End file.
